


The Shop of Baker Street

by a-cumberbatch-of-cookies (tishy19), baskerville



Category: Pet Shop of Horrors, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Multifandom AU Drabble Meme
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-08 20:49:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tishy19/pseuds/a-cumberbatch-of-cookies, https://archiveofourown.org/users/baskerville/pseuds/baskerville
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of unexplainable murders leads NYPD Detectives John Watson and Sebastian Moran to investigate every possible link between the victims. When a card with a simple address of '221 Baker St' is found on the latest victim, John will come face to face with creatures that have only ever existed in myth and legends, and the only man who's able to control them, Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"So this... _Kirin_ was it? This Kirin will grant my wish?," the brunette asked, as she ran a black gloved finger over her lower lip, considering the circumstances, or outcomes of the decision she was about to make. It wasn't necessarily a smart one, this choice. But she wanted power. She wanted weight, Something that could grant her the desired position she sought out... 

"It's a lovely pet, Miss Adler, I assure you. But if you are able to see it, it is because it believes you are worthy of ownership. It does not show itself to just anyone," the mysterious, dark haired gentleman answered, placing both arms cross over his chest, "He must sense great leadership in you." 

There was something about the man, something off. The customer just couldn't place it, but she immediately pushed these thoughts to the back of her head, allowing her pride to engulf her thoughts as she took in his words. She was a special case, an exception. The only person so far, whom such an amazing creature found worth to tame it? She couldn't believe what she was hearing, but that didn't stop her from openly accepting it. Turning on a heel to the man, her curiosity became peaked. When she first entered the shop, and the Kirin was shown to her, it was a glorious wonder to behold. It stood tall, and proud, on all fours like the proudest of mustangs. But, instead of the coarse, bristly hair that would grace it's lovely body, it had scales. Green scales than ran over it's entire form, with a red underbelly of a snake. It's hooves, were black as night, as sturdy legs lead up to the reptilian-like body. It's mane was not of hair, but of flames. Glistening orange flames, that seemed to illuminate the creatures head, providing it with an eerie sense of ominous knowing. Atop it's head, standing proud, and flawless, stood two antlers. They were as any other antlers, brown, somewhat resembling a young buck, or grown deer. Irene remembered looking about, mainly in shock that such a creature existed, but once her eyes returned to the subject at hand, it had taken the appearance of a small child. Unsure, why, or how, she made an inquiry.   
"Why does it look like a child then, if it's such a mystical creature, Mr. Holmes?"

"They'll often take whichever form they believe will help them blend in with society. Or one they just like. This particular Kirin clearly felt a need to appear as a young child," Sherlock replied, his eyes drifting slowly to the ceiling as he thought. Before long, he added, "However, you must know, Kirin are very tricky creatures. They will only grant your wish when _they_ believe you deserve it... As such, I am obligated to provide you with this warning, Miss Adler; Be cautious of where you trek. And do not, under any circumstances, insult the Kirin, or undermine it. It will take offense, and then treat you as it sees fit." 

"Like an actual pet would?," Irene inquired, her brows furrowing at the realism of it all. If it was such a mighty creature... Why would a simple human's words mean anything to it? Of course, she didn't grasp the importance of Sherlock's words at all, and dismissed them as unimportant dribble, as did most of his customers. 

"Indeed. It simply requires respect," the shop owner said, before turning to make his way to the front of his shop, "All you'll have to discuss with me now is the payment..."

The woman's heels clicked against the hardwood as she trailed behind the taller form. Her eyes were narrowed, only slightly as her senses absorbed her surroundings. The entire shop reeked of incense and perfumes. It was supposed to be a pet shop, but there were always rumors floating about Chinatown, about how the mysterious owner may be selling more than just pets here. Many said he sold exotic things. Mysterious, and mostly dangerous things. Of course, these were only mere rumors, of which Miss Adler had absolutely no intention of heeding. Finally, after discussing a fairly reasonable price with the customer, Sherlock escorted Irene to the back once more. It was there, that she nodded, leading the Kirin back out to the front of the shop, and towards the exit, then leave and head directly home upon exiting the shop, hand in hand. Before the doors on the Baker street Pet shop closed, however, she looked back at Homles, her head tilted only slightly. He was smiling, but the dark inner dwellings of the shop had shadows, that cast down, and every-so-conveniently diverted his features from view. Just as the door to the shop go to close behind her, she could have sworn she made out the vague sound of his voice, the accent fluent, and smooth as the words tumbled out... "Remember, Miss Adler. Respect..." \---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"This one's gruesome...," the detective spoke, jotting something down in his notepad, before covering back up the corpse with that dreaded white sheet. 

It was 1:00 a.m., the moon was high in the sky, surrounded by the black night sky, the misty clouds shrouding it in mystery. Another murder scene, another victim, and the fifth gruesome murder this week. The killings just seemed to keep piling up.

"We should do an entire sweep of her apartment, and see what she's been up to," Watson said, as he inhaled, scratching his temple. He'd been speaking to his partner, whom was assigned, only for the night. Unfortunately for John, Sebastian's focus nearly never left his mobile device. To be accurate, it took John all about three call's of Moran's name to finally catch his attention, and force him to snap back to reality.  
"Are you even listening?," the detective pressed, as cold, tired eyes looked over the taller blonde male with angry intent. 

"Yes, I heard ya," the male grumbled, before turning to look through the small bookshelf that was standing behind him, "A complete sweep ta' see what she's been up ta'. I get it..."

Watson huffed. He usually worked these cases on his own, but it wasn't until the murders picked up in the last few weeks. The killing rate skyrocketed. So many people were dying in odd, unbelievable, and gruesome ways. But what did they all have in common? What connected each victim to one another? A grumble escaped him as he turned, walking towards the window. 

"Think, Moran. Each victim, dying in similar ways, odd fashions, strange times; and when no one else was around... But what did they a-"

"Gotcha." Moran said, gleefully cutting off the male's thoughts, as he held up, with a gloved hand, a small, white index card, with an address written on it. 

John snatched the card, immediately looking it over. It was clearly written in Irene's shorthand. His eyes narrowed lightly, as he read the card's contents aloud, "221B Baker Street..."

"Must mean China town. Y'know, that little street with all tha' bakeries. Everybody jus' calls it Baker street...," As Sebastian finished his sentence, John's head shot up, a soft gasp escaping him. 

"Didn't the last victim visit the same address? They had it listed in their address book?"

"Why're ya askin-"

But Sebastian wasn't even able to finish his sentence, because John had already flipped through his notepad. Nodding once, he spoke loudly, "Yes. Yes that's the place." 

Peeking into the notepad again, he flipped it closed, putting it within the confines of his jacket. He gave a nod to the team he was with, telling them it was okay to remove the body, as he turned to Moran with a smirk.   
"It's a pet shop. On Baker Street. Owned by some bloke named Sherlock Holmes. So, let's hop to it." And without so much as another word, the smalled man made a happy, almost hopping strut out the door. Being another step closer to solving the murders made him excited, and one thing was sure, he was close to it's source. So close, he could taste it.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The look of disgust on Sebastian's face as he watched the smaller male basically skip off of the crime scene was that of disgust. If it wasn't for his boss, he wouldn't be tolerating this bullshit. The unnecessary yelps when he realizes something, his bossiness, and the constant bitching about Moran having his phone out.   
If Detective John Watson was a category of allergy, then Moran definitely contracted it.   
Not until he was sure the male was out of ear shot, and eye sight, Moran pulled out his phone once again. Unlocking it, he quickly sent the following message. 

_We've found Sherlock. We'll be approaching him soon. -SM_

Sebastian couldn't stand being under cover like this, but it was the job. It had to be done. The idea that it was all only for his bosses collection, however, stung at his brain. Like an itch he couldn't quite scratch. What was the point in having the damn detective look for him? Moran's boss definitely had enough connections, as well as power, to have Sherlock found of his own power, so what was stopping him? The pondering only continued, until the familiar buzzing of a vibrating cellphone filled Sebastian's ears. He looked down, and unlocked his phone to read his message. 

_Keep up the good work, little tiger. Daddy's very proud. -JM_

With a smug grin, and a short chuckle, the ex-sniper, and now undercover "apprentice detective", put away his phone, making a slow trail after his higher up. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The eve was still young, as Sherlock made his way from the kitchen, holding his tea cup in hand, the paper in the other. It'd been quite some time since he'd managed to have a little time to himself. To relax, sit down, without the constant bother of customers, or the occasional complaint. Putting his tea upon the table top, and paper beside it, he was just about to sit down, when there was a gentle rapping on the door of the shop. It was not just any door, however, no it was the back. The only two people who knew of the back entrance, was Sherlock and one other person. 

"Oh come, not now." With a reluctant groan, he pushes off of the couch, and headed towards the back, more so dark part of the shop. If his deduction was indeed right, which, they usually were, then this was exactly whom he thought it was, and he was here, for exactly what Sherlock thought he'd be there for. And so, one soft, light skinned hand, slowly reached out, and the slender fingers took the handle of the back entrance door, slowly pulling it open. 

There he stood, the long gray tench coat, nicely put together suit, semi-cared for hair, and that damned umbrella. The look on his face was all but happy. 

"Mycroft....What brings you here?," Sherlock asked, attempting to add some melodramatic flare to his voice, to seem as though he truly cared. 

In response, the eldest Holmes only rolled his eyes and huffed, "Sherlock, we both know why I'm here. Now, let me in so we can speak about the consequences of your careless actions."

Doing as his brother told, Sherlock backed away from the door, holding it open to allow entry for his brother. It was going to be a long night of talking, correcting and scolding.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John decides to check out 221 Baker St where he finds a very interesting man named Sherlock Holmes.

John stood silently and looked down both sides of Mulberry St, better known as 'Baker St' in and outside of Chinatown. The early morning hour brought the sickeningly sweet smell of breads and cakes rolling over him from the surrounding shops. John had sent Moran on ahead to check in with the coroner, hoping that some clue as to what killed the woman had finally been found. From what he'd seen yesterday night, Ms Adler's body appeared to be less mutilated than previous victims. The forensics team was directed to search every corner of Adler's home with a fine-toothed comb. No piece of evidence was to be dismissed without some kind of investigation, including the business card Moran had found, which with it's connection to the previous murder, was the best lead the police had had in weeks.

Looking back to the door of 221 'Baker St,' John noted the stark difference between the numerous shops that lined the street and his destination. While all the other storefronts were decorated with lanterns, bright colors and large letters, 221 was minimalistic in its appearance; plain brick wall, no windows, and only a large wooden door with a intricate bronze handle faced him. The numbers '221' were painted above the door, but no other signs indicated the purpose of the shop.

Giving the door a firm push, a small parlor was revealed to him as the sound of a soft chime announced his presence. The room was dim, only a few lite candles atop a small table broke apart the darkness. Four large chairs were seated around the table, each upholstered in a silky, dark red fabric with delicate gold designs.

"Hello?" John called, stepping further into the room. The sudden scent of incense filled his nostrils, the pungent smell of lilacs and lavender was almost overwhelming and John gave a soft snort to clear his nose. "My name is Detective John Watson with the NYPD. I'd like to ask a few questions."

John's brow furrowed in concentration, eyes darting around the room. Besides the door he'd come through, there was one other passage, though it was covered with a dark purple silk panel. With no probable cause, John was limited in his ability to search the shop; even so, he slowly made his way towards the opening. 

"Hello? Is anyone there?" John asked as he stretched out his arm to pull the barrier aside.

Just as his fingers brushed over the panel, another hand from the other side swept the curtain away. John suddenly found himself staring up into gray-blue eyes. 

Taking a hurried step back, John quickly apologized to the man. "I'm so sorry, I was beginning to think there was no one here."

The man gave John a tight smile and passed by John, moving towards the table and chairs. "How may I help you, detective?" came the man's rich British baritone. 

The fact such a deep voice was produced by such a tall, willowy creature surprised John who followed slowly.

The shopkeeper settled into one of the chair and lifted his gaze to stare at John. The flicker of the candlelight drew out the sharp line of the man's cheek bones and caused his eyes to change back and forth between a vibrant emerald to a stormy blue and every shade in between. 

John shook his head and quickly cleared his throat. "Right, yes. I'm here about a few of your customers, Mr.....?"

"Sherlock Holmes," his host replied as he sat back in his chair, one long leg bending to settle on his other knee. 

From where he'd watched Sherlock cross his legs, John's eyes trailed back up over his body to meet the other's eyes. A look of amused curiosity greeted him.

John tried to ignore the warm feeling of a blush breaking out on his cheeks and pulled out his notepad. "Well, Mr Holmes, do you happen to remember a woman named Irene Adler visiting your shop? Would have been only a few days ago."

Sherlock stayed silent for a few moments, just staring at John. The detective kept eye contact the whole time, refusing to be intimidated by the shop owner. Finally, with a sigh came Sherlock's answer, "Yes, I remember Ms Adler. She's a charming woman, quite ambitious."

"She's dead."

"And an idiot." 

John's pencil paused on his pad and he looked up from where he'd been writing. "Excuse me?"

But Sherlock just waved him off. "Oh, it's alright. Nearly everyone is, though I did have hope for Ms Adler."

"High hopes?" John repeated, eyes narrowing. "High hopes for what?"

Sherlock ignored the bit of suspicion in John's voice. "As a caretaker, obviously."

Where John's brows had been lowered in concentration, they now spiked in surprise. "A caretaker for who? There were no signs of a child at Adler's apartment, unless she shares custody with someone else."

"For whom," Sherlock corrected with a roll of his eyes.

John pursed his lips and twitched his nose. He'd put up with worse from witnesses and suspects than this guy, but there was something about his Holmes's nonchalant attitude concerning Irene Adler's death and general aloofness that was beginning to rub John the wrong way. 

"You knew her well, then?" John asked, looking back to his pad and away from those arresting gray eyes. He heard Sherlock sigh and looked back up. "That a no, then?"

"I knew enough. Raised in a restrictive home, every move monitored by her parents, nannies, teachers; never given a moment of freedom until she was finally forced to take it herself. Transferred to a college as far away from home as soon as she was able, and majored in business and politics, determined to increase her control over every aspect of her world," and Sherlock finally smiled, "by any means necessary."

John frowned. "She told you all this?"

"No. I saw."

"... You saw? Saw what?"

"Everything!" Sherlock laughed, shaking his head in exasperation. "Just like I see you!"

John gave a muted scoff and raised an eyebrow. "Like me, yeah? And what do you see in me?" John challenged, hands falling to his sides, turned out towards Sherlock. "Go ahead."

John's smug smile faded quickly as he watched the other man stand and move towards him. 

"You're in your early 40s, a so-called 'true New Yorker.' The police force is in your blood, your father, grandfather and sister all wear the uniform as well and though you looked up to both your elders, you and your sister don't really get on. You're ambitious and level-headed in a crisis. You rose through the rank quickly because of this, though it caused some bad blood with your fellow officers This all leads to a very inactive social life and ends with you home alone on a nightly basis." He paused for a short moment. "Ever thought of getting a pet?"

John blinked quickly and snapped his mouth shut, which had lowered slowly during Sherlock's speech. "Jesus," he breathed and took a step back. "How did you-" John started but saw Sherlock's eyebrow raise and he stopped himself. "You saw all that?"

Sherlock shrugged and moved back to his chair. "You humans are terrible at hiding your true selves."

John's head cocked to the side. "Sorry, what was that? You humans?"

Turning quickly, Sherlock's eyes blazed for a second and then he looked away. "I meant Americans."

"Yes, right," John stammered, still a bit thrown from Sherlock's spot on deductions. "You know that's amazing, right? What you just did?"

John couldn't be sure, but he might have seen a light blush on the other man's cheek. "That's not what people normally say."

"What do they normally say?"

"Fuck off."

John couldn't help the small laugh that bubbled up, out of amusement and general wonder. He opened his mouth to reply when he heard a small crash from the back of the store. He spun to face the velvet curtain, his training kicking in as his hand flew to his sidearm.

"It's alright," came a soft rumble and he felt a warm hand settle gently on his shoulder. "It's just Mrs Hudson."

Letting out a long breath, John let the small bit of adrenaline that always spiked during tense moments work itself out of his system, pulling his hand back from his side and flexing his fingers. "Mrs Hudson?" he questioned.

"Shop assistant," Sherlock replied as he moved towards the curtain and pulled back one side of it. "Come along now," he called.

John didn't know what he expected to walk through that door, but it definitely wasn't the small, golden-haired dog that scampered into the room, tiny stub of a tail wagging quickly.

"Oh," he smiled. "Wow, she's a..."

"A Pembroke Welsh Corgi," Sherlock supplied as both men watched the dog move around the room, sniffing first the air, followed by all four chairs and finally settling in front of John. 

Looking down at the furry creature, it was hard for John not to smile. "She's cute."

Almost in response, Mrs Hudson bounced up on her short back legs, placing her front paws on John's leg and gave one loud bark. John couldn't help but laugh.

He glanced up at Sherlock and saw a look of fond amusement which he chalked up to Mrs Hudson's excitement, though he had nothing to blame the small flutter in his stomach as their eyes connected.

John loudly cleared his throat as he averted his gaze, looking around the shop. "I never did ask, what is it you sell here?"

"Pets," Sherlock replied evenly. 

John's brows knitted together in confusion and repeated "Pets?"

"Yes, rare pets."

This caused John to stop, his mind trying to link this new information with the dead body that lay in the morgue. "How rare? Rare enough to kill for?"

"Well I should hope so."

John floundered for a second at Sherlock's reply, then rubbed his face with one hand and sighed. "So Mrs Adler came to you looking for a pet?"

"Of a sort." 

"What do mean?"

"Mrs Adler came looking for what she desired most. It just so happened I was in ownership of a creature that could provide it to her."

Before he could question Sherlock further, his cell phone pinged with a new message. He fished it out of his pocket and saw it had come from Molly Hooper, the forensic pathologist at the local hospital. "CAUSE OF DEATH BLOOD LOSS. STABBED BY CONICAL SHAPED WEAPON. NOT SURE WHAT SPECIFICALLY. SENT LABS TO CHIEF."

John pursed his lips at the word 'conical' and tried to picture what kind of weapon could leave such a distinct wound. He typed out a quick reply, "SIMILARITIES TO PREVIOUS VICTIMS?", and slid the phone back into his pocket. 

"Sorry 'bout that," John apologized. "You were saying?"

Sherlock stared at him for a moment, one arm crossed over his chest while the index finger on his other hand rubbed softly over his bottom lip.

John couldn't help but watch that long, dextrous finger glide from corner to corner of Sherlock's mouth. Without thought, John licked his own lips.

At the sight of John's tongue, the other man let out a small breath he hadn't even known he'd been holding. John's eyes widened. "Mr Holmes?"

"I-," Sherlock stammered, but whatever thought he'd meant to vocalize was cut short by the sudden ring of John's cell. 

It took John a moment and, embarrassingly, a bit of fumbling but he pulled his phone back out of his pocket at saw it was the station's number calling.

He hit the answer button and pressed the phone to his ear. "Watson."

"John," came his captain's low voice. "We need you back at the station, ASAP."

"Yes sir, I'll be right there," John assured, even giving a useless nod of his head in agreement.

Ending the call, John looked back to Sherlock. "I'm sorry, Mr Holmes-"

"Please, call me Sherlock," the other man interjected.

John smiled, "Alright." He didn't even stop to think why something so simple gave him such an intense feeling of pleasure. "I'm sorry, Sherlock, but it seems I'm needed back at the station. Perhaps we could continue this at a later date?"

"Of course, detective."

Pulling a business card out of his jacket pocket, John stepped closer and handed it to the other man. "I'll stop back by when I get a moment, but if you think of anything that could be important for the case, feel free to call." 

Sherlock plucked the card from John's fingers and glanced over it. "Only for the case?" he smirked.

"Well, I mean if you wan-" John began hesitantly, but for a third time their conversation was interrupted, not by John's cell but the chimes of the shop's front door, announcing another customer. A crisp, fresh breeze rushed into the shop, parting the heavy scent of incense. Both men turned to see the newcomer and John's eyes widened in surprise. "Moran?"

The other detective paused in the open door, eyes darting between Sherlock and John. "Captain wants us to report back to the station, pronto."

"Right, yes," John confirmed and took a step back from Sherlock. He sucked in a deep breath of fresh air and felt a fog he didn't even know was there evaporate from his mind. "I'll be in touch," he nodded to Sherlock, then turned and headed towards Moran.

"Goodbye, detective," Sherlock called softly, John's business card still held tightly in his hand as the solid door swung shut behind the two detectives.

\------------

John pulled the heavy door of 221 Baker St closed behind them, and slid his unused pen and pad back into his jacket pocket. "Alright, you know what the captain wants with us?"

Seb shrugged and headed towards their car, "No idea. Just called me and told me to grab you and make it back to the station as soon as possible."

John frowned and pulled open the passenger side of the car, quickly sliding into the seat beside Moran. "Same here."

The car roared to life and Moran pulled away from the curb. "So?"

"So what?"

"What's going on at 221?"

"Oh," John muttered, staring out the window. "Pet shop, if you'd believe it. Turns out Adler adopted a pet a few days before she was murdered."

"No shit?" Moran laughed. John only grunted in reply and the car grew silent. Seb's fingers drummed on the steering wheel. "And the guy?"

John continued to stare out the window. "I'll check into him at the station. Seemed a bit odd, but I didn't get a bad feeling from him. Just strange."

Strange, eccentric, mysterious - and gorgeous. Those eyes alone, Jesus. Every fucking time Sherlock had looked at him, John felt it in his bones, like a fire had been set in his belly that still smoldered, even after leaving the shop behind. John had dated quite a few lookers in his time, but not one was as alien yet alluring as Sherlock. It was more than fair to say John was suddenly having a bit of a problem focusing on Moran or the case. Hell, he'd barely asked any of the questions he'd planned, spending most of the visit being awestruck by the man. 

John wasn't one to believe in love at first sight, but there was definitely something about Sherlock Holmes that was doing a damn fine job reeling him in. 

\-----

Sherlock continued to stare at the closed door of his shop, John's business card still in hand. His fingers mindlessly rubbed over the inset of the printed words. 

"Quite an interesting lad," a soft, knowing voice came from behind him. 

Quickly, Sherlock slipped the card into his jacket pocket and turned to Mrs Hudson with a sigh. "Oh, please, Mrs Hudson, do spare me your ever present optimism."

Mrs Hudson only laughed at his snide remark. Years of helping around the shop had helped the old woman build up quite a tolerance to Sherlock's ever changing moods. "I will not say anything more, just that you two spent an awful lot of time just staring at each other just now."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and headed towards the back of the shop. "Where else would you have liked me to look? Or should I have just ran up and clawed at him like you?"

"Oh, I was just being friendly." It was Mrs Hudson's turn to sigh as she began to move around the room, turning on the few lamps that Sherlock had neglected. "I don't know why you keep it so dark in here. The customers aren't used to living in a cave, you know. With more light you might have seen him better; you might have seen a sign of-"

"Mrs Hudson!" Sherlock suddenly shouted, spinning on his toe to face her. "Let me make this very clear, since the previous hundred times we've discussed this, you must not have been listening." With a few quick steps, Sherlock stood before her, his body looming over her. "I do not need nor want a bloodmate." His eyes flashed red and though she knew he'd never harm her, Mrs Hudson swallowed thickly and took a small step back.

"You know you can't control it, Sherlock. If he is your catalyst...." She spoke gently, "And it would be good for you to have someone." Her eyes became glassy, unshed tears collecting in the corners. "I do worry about you. I won't be here forever, you know that. Maybe another century or two..." she trailed off, a soft sob escaping her lips. She pulled a handkerchief out of the sleeve of her dress and dabbed at her eyes. 

Sherlock drew back, realizing a long breath. He looked her over for a quiet moment, then smiled wide. "We've been together for over 500 years and you still think you can successfully pull such an obvious act over me?"

The silent sobs stopped instantaneously and Mrs Hudson's head popped up from where it had been lowered, handkerchief to her face. "Oh it was worth a shot," the old woman laughed. "It worked wonders on your brother when you both were young."

"Well he has always been a spectacular idiot," Sherlock scoffed and turned back to the covered doorway. "Tea would be lovely, Mrs Hudson," he called over his shoulder as he slipped behind the curtain.

"I'm your shop assistant, love, not your housekeeper!" she replied, the newfound smile slowly disappeared from her face as she heard Sherlock's steps fade away. Speaking of Mycroft, she thought, wouldn't he like to know about Detective John Watson...

**Author's Note:**

> First and last chapter by baskerville.  
> Second chapter by a-cumberbatch-of-cookies.


End file.
